Birthday
by PlainSimpleGarak
Summary: Raphael never understood why they celebrated birthdays, anyways.  It wasn't like they had birth certificates.  Besides, trouble always seemed to find him every year, and this one was no different.
1. Really

_A/N:_

_After an argument about birthdays, I was inspired to write about it. It came out as a stream-of-consciousness/internal monologue that slowly morphed into a story._

_The setting is mainly the 2003 tooniverse, however all of my fics are influenced by the 1990 movie. I can't help it; I grew up with it and love it. Raphael, especially is a blend between the two. I must also admit that no matter how hard I try, all of Raphael's dialogue in my head comes out in Rob Paulsen's voice… so some of the 80's toon sarcasm is in here as well._

_Rated T for language. A lot of language._

_As always reviews and constructive criticisms are loved. I make no claim to the TMNT characters or franchise and I had much fun writing this, I hope you enjoy reading it._

xXx

**Birthday**

xXx

I hate birthdays.

Seriously, I don't get the human fascination with having a special day, all to one's self. I mean, if they would even listen to half the crap the say, they might realize what a bloated buncha selfish nitwits they are. Why do you need a special day? Master Splinter has been tellin' us since we were three that every day is special. Or at least you're supposed ta make it special. Or some bullshit.

The truth is, if you're normal. I mean if you're human, I don't get what you got to bitch and complain about. You can sit out in the sunshine any damn day you want, and go to whatever concert or party or sports event trips your trigger. You don't dig through the trash for your housewares and you don't live in a sewer. And you most certainly aren't cooped up with the same chump brothers every damn day. Well, maybe you are, but still.

But still, everyone's got ta have their special day. It's just what we do. Nevermind that there are plenty of other holidays to feel bad about not being able to celebrate properly, but we gotta have birthdays, too.

'Cept we don't really have birthdays. We were just turtles. Turtles that found some ooze and became different. Nobody kept a record of when turtles were born. So, we just picked them. Arbitrarily. I dunno if Master Splinter fished 'em out of a hat or threw darts at a calendar or what, but we got 'em tagged onto us like bad nametags or those stupid party hats that Mike makes us wear for New Years. More like when Mike tried to tie one on ta his stupid cat and the thing went running off, screeching. That's how birthdays are.

Even worse, everyone else seems to just love the damn things. Even my brothers. Mike adores his, but that just comes down to a matter of gifts and attention. Even if gifts only amount to cake and pizza, it's still cause for celebration. Whoopdie-freakin-do. Donnie likes his well enough because he gets the day off of all chores and get to… well… go do whatever he does. Commune with the internet or something. Who knows? Even Leo likes his. Maybe he just likes that we all try to be real nice to him. Yeah, even me. After this many years, I lost count of how many death glares I got from Master Splinter on the issue. Or pissed off Father glares. Same difference. I know the rules. Be nice to Leo on his birthday.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe I just hate my birthday.

'Oh, Raph, you're just sayin' that!' Mikey tells me this every year. Every damn year.

No, Mike. I am not just sayin' that.

Seriously. Just because Father picked some day to be my 'birthday' - my special day - doesn't mean that the criminals, the Purple Dragons, the Foot and all the other damn punks out there care. In fact they don't give a damn. So we end up going out, bustin' heads. Just like I like, right?

Yeah, right. I just love bustin' heads. Because beatin' the shit out of people is my favorite thing in the world.

Ya know? I would rather not have ta fight all the damn time. But that's just wishful thinking on my part. We all know that the criminals and the badguys aren't going away. They never go away and so we bust heads. And they come back and we bust heads again.

It's a damn dirty cycle.

And so you call attention to it. 'Every year on Raph's birthday something big goes down!' God, if I hear that one more time, I swear I'm gonna punch something. It's not like I ask for that. I don't sit down and write letters to Santa or the fucking Easter Bunny, wishing for a big stinkin' fight on my birthday. But it always seems to happen.

And when it doesn't everyone's gotta throw a party. I hate those, too. Way to throw the spotlight on someone and remind them how miserable life is. Whoo hoo. We picked a random day and decided to bring you pizza and sing a song that makes you want to punch people. Awesome. Let's do it again next year. Can I beat my face into a cheese grater yet?

I mean, if this really was a special day, you could do what you wanted, right? Not sit underground waiting for something horrible to attack, or sit around all cooped up and be forced to pretend you're having fun. Not listen to people say that you're lucky you get to do what you like best on your birthday when all you're doing is breakin' some kid's nose or getting hacked at by a Foot ninja. Fuck it. How many times do I have to tell people that I don't love beating people up?

Flip a coin, Raph. Heads you get another birthday full of fighting crime, tails you get Mikey's chocolate surprise and an excruciating evening of cajoling. It's a lose-lose situation.

Oh, I see you, Leo. I see that face. That's a 'quit yer bitching' face. I haven't even said anything and it's like he can read my mind. Damn psychic bastard. I am not that transparent. Mike wonders why I'm always so intent on stuffing this cereal into my beak. It's because I'm avoiding that stare. That 'I know what you're thinking' stare. Like hell you know what I'm thinking.

Oh and here comes Mr. Happy himself. Grinning. Perky. Aw fuck, he remembers. It's like red alert klaxons go off in my head screaming 'evade! Evade!' The only thing worse than Mike forgetting your birthday is Mike remembering your birthday.

Great. Now he's reminded Donnie and I'm screwed. Yep. The whispering and laughing starts. Right. This bowl is done, and we're leaving. Yes, Leo, we're leaving. Yes, Leo, I mean it, we're leaving. Leo? Fuck you very much. Now we're gone.

Silence is so damn soothing. They don't understand how wonderful it is to not have to hear them. I have too much in my head already and sometimes they just raise the din to a grating cacophony. Gotta get away from them.

Oh shit. Master Splinter's voice. Dammit, Leo, it's not like I mean to bite your head off, but leaving means leaving. If he didn't make such a damn drama out of everything… He's like a frikken drama queen. Heh. Drama queen. I like that. I should get him a crown for his birthday. Oh crap. Sorry Father. No, nothing was funny. Well, maybe it was but really, I didn't mean it. Yes. I do realize tomorrow is a special day for me (and I really wish people would stop reminding me.) and no, I didn't mean to snap at Leo but… At least Master Splinter seems to understand. Usually. Leo's still getting a crown. With glitter and pink rhinestones.

Yeah, so sometimes when things seem overwhelming a little exercise takes the edge off. Maybe a lot of exercise. At least I learned the breaking point of all the equipment several years ago. Besides, it's always nice to beat Leo into the training room. Every once in a while he comes in a spars. It's nice. Friendly. Brotherly competition. We should do it more often, but no. Today he's gonna sit like a rock and meditate. I always wonder how close to his beak I could get with my sai and still not have him notice. It's this temptation that has been nagging me for years now, and the only dam holding it back is that it's something Mikey would do. Shit, now I'm falling into that stereotype trap, but hell. It is something Mike would do. In fact, here he comes now. Yes, Mike, ever thought about trying to break Leo's concentration while he's meditating? Who am I kidding? Think about it. You attempt it on a daily basis and oh... Whipped cream. Very clever. I am not going to laugh at this. No. Not going to laugh. I am going to pretend I can not see. Aw, fuckit, this is too damn funny. Oh, no not that side, he can hear you…oh. You're screwed now. This is better than cable. You're lucky you can run fast.

Oh wait. Don't you dare. Two against one isn't fair and the words 'birthday boy' don't apply until tomorrow. I don't care what it tastes like, it's sticky and I just washed my shell. This _is_ my warning, Mike. In fact this is my fucking death glare. If I could shoot lasers from my eyes you would be a dead turtle. Yes, you try it and I_ will_ punch you. Oh, I know you'll remember. I'll be sure to hide the entire stock of spreadable or throwable food products before tomorrow. Talk about saved by the bell. Innocent my ass. Whipped cream. Hm.

So yeah, by the end of training I have been promised a cake, a pizza and a bath in whipped cream. This is just awesome. It is so awesome I want to pee myself. Really. Yes, I love you too, Mike. I'll be sure to penny your door after you go to sleep. Can I go now? Not that I have anywhere to go, it's just that moving around helps me calm down. It's like I could be going somewhere, even if I'm not.

Mmm, sewer rats. They stink like, well… rats, but they're comforting in a way. They know me, I know them and I know when they're alarmed that I need to be ready for something bad. Today they're pretty chill. Just me and the rats. Making rounds. Why did I take rounds again? Did they want me out of the lair?

Oh shit. Do not tell me I fell for it. What the hell are they doing back there? Why am I suddenly paranoid? Oh yeah, maybe it was the all the bitching and then the rant I had last year when my birthday went to hell in a handbasket. Oh please don't drag April down here. And, well, Casey's OK. I'd rather go up than have him come down. Besides, up there is beer. Which doesn't taste good, but I admit is great for unwinding. And after a while it starts to taste good. I might even like it. In the same way I might even like coffee. Which also doesn't taste good. Who the hell thought up the idea of wildly popular beverages that taste like crap? I mean what kind of marketing strategy is 'drink this! It makes you feel weird and it tastes like crap!" That had to have been hard to get off the ground.

Which leaves the question: head back early or stay out late? If I shortcut back I can see what they're up to, or I could not give a shit and just keep away. I mean, I don't give a shit, really so it doesn't really matter.

But it wouldn't take long to look.

Seriously, I'll just end up heading out again anyways, so stopping back at the lair isn't a problem. Besides, I can pick up that book I'm supposed to bring back to Casey, just in case I head up there. Yeah, I'll do that.

Where is everyone? Leo's reading that stupid book Master Splinter wants him to read. Mike's fixing the door he busted two days ago, and Donnie's supervising while at the same time fixing the broken kitchen light. It's like an episode of 'This Old House,' without the house. Yeah, hey guys. No, nothing is up. Yeah, just grabbing something. No, didn't finish rounds. Yeah, gonna finish them now. Bye.

Well, that was uneventful. I don't know why I thought it would be. I should have just stayed away.

I never quite know how long I should wander. I mean when does it stop being purposeful and start becoming aimless. Maybe it's when you stop paying attention to the route and just start thinking the same thing over and over again. Like birthdays.

Dammit! Why am I still thinking about birthdays? There are no birthdays. The Birthday is a lie. And so is the cake. Or at least that's what Donnie tells me.

I should go topside. Which will get me in trouble. Even if nothing happens it seems to always get me in trouble. It's like trouble is magnetized to me. My ass has its own gravimetric pull for danger. The tides of evil come to kick it on a regular basis. So I shouldn't go topside. Which is exactly why I want to go.

That and air. You cannot understand the amazing feel of air. Even crappy city air, full of smog and tar is immeasurably better than stagnant sewer air. I mean when is the last time a gentle breeze blew through the sewers? If you said never you might be right. Rain is pretty amazing, too. It's a little slice of freedom, the idea that for a few seconds you don't have a roof over your head. Yep, I know what you're thinking. Everybody wants a roof over their head, nobody wants to be homeless. But you're also assuming you can go outside anytime you like. When it's the other way around your entire body craves the open air. My skin has an itch that only rain can wash away.

Topside? Home? Topside? Home? Shit, I hate indecision. I am not the indecisive one. But honestly, if I'm waffling the decision is already made. If I wanted to go topside, I'd already be topside. Something about the lair was nagging me. Aw, fuck. I thought I had stopped thinking about my birthday.

Alright, check on sadistic plotting brothers again. I should have an umbrella. No, I shouldn't. No amount of whipped cream defense it could grant would outweigh the ridicule I would get for carrying it around. Yep. Scratch that. No umbrella. It's a good thing I wander these tunnels all the time because sometimes I gotta marvel at myself how far away from the lair I can get. I suppose that's one thing I can say about sewers. I am amazed at how damn big they are. Not big enough and too big all at the same time. I should shut up before I start to sound like those stupid philosophy books Master Splinter made us read when we were younger.

Nonchalant. Yep, we're back. Nope, everything is normal. Nope, I didn't go topside. Fuckit, Leo, listen to the words I am saying. I. Did. Not. Go. Topside. You know, Leo, for a smart turtle you sure don't seem to understand English at times. Oh fine. Hey, look. Book! If I had gone topside, I would have given Casey the book! No, Mike it is not a comic book. Sheesh. Casey has real books. Besides, comics come in magazines. Are we all on the same wavelength now? Can I go to the kitchen without further interrogation? Thankyouverymuch. And they wonder why they piss me off?

There is something wrong here, I know it. I sense a decisive lack of cake. Which either means they will be cobbling something together last minute or they have already ferreted it away and are planning my doom. I don't even like cake. Well, I kinda like cake. It's the frosting I'm not too hot on. Maybe I just don't like birthday cake.

I gotta stop this. Maybe there's a movie on? Or maybe Donnie is watching Animal Planet. Oh that is so gross. Seriously, Donnie, how can you watch that? Yikes! I think Casey has movies hidden under the couch that have the same scenes in them. Really Don? Yeah, I made that comparison. Oh, Donnie, I did not ask for a lecture on our forbearers in the animal kingdom. You know, if you squint, Donnie's head sorta looks like a mushroom. He looks like a tiny lecturing mushroom. I bet green mushrooms are poisonous. Yep, they gotta be. Huh? Oh fuck, Donnie, I don't need a pop quiz. Well, whatever. Poisonous mushrooms for $500, Alex. Oh and you're staring at me like I have three heads? Piss off, Donnie. I'm not the one watching giraffe porn.

So no movie. No kitchen. No main room. This place is too damn small. Damn it Leo! No, I will not stop pacing! I just got back, can you leave me the fuck alone for ten flippin' seconds? You know what, you can snap at me as loud as you want, you know damn well I can yell louder. You wanna test it? You bring it Bro. Hot damn it! You can't get away from anyone and you can't relax! Shut up, Leo! Shut up! SHUT UP!

Aw, fuck. And just like that, every goes silent and we gotta see what's broken. My wits for one, and maybe my sanity, too. But that never gets counted. Pacing. He throws a fit over pacing. I think he just loves to push buttons. I'm putting buttons on his pink glitter crown, I swear. Oh, yeah. You're fine, stop whining. I can see you're fine. Yeah, I'm the bad guy for throwing a lamp at you. Fine. I'll be the bad guy. And yep. There's Father, just like clockwork. Screw it. I'm going to my room. I'm going there anyways, whether I listen to the lecture or not, so why waste the breath? I'm not listening to you anymore, Leo. I shouldn't have listened to you in the first place, and I didn't take my advice the first time. You know, after I slam this door I can't hear you, so I don't even know why you try.

Oh wait, I do. You just gotta get the last word in, don't ya? Wait for it. Wait for it. Heh. It's a Pyrrhic victory to cut Leo off just before he makes his point, and most likely immature to boot. But damn, it feels good every single time.

Too bad feeling good doesn't last long enough. Shit. Grounded. Stuck inside. Stuck with my thoughts, and tomorrow's my birthday.

I _really_ hate birthdays.


	2. Definitely

I _really_ hate mornings.

Especially when the wake up call is irate pounding on the door. You know, guys, I keep that thing locked for a reason. Am I awake? That doesn't deserve an answer. Can I hear you? Yeah, Mike, I could hear you if I were a deaf man with a jackhammer running in my room. Oh shit. I almost forgot.

Wonderful. It's the ass crack of dawn and I gotta pay the dues I didn't pay last night. Because the very best thing in the morning is visiting Master Splinter and explaining why I lost my temper. That's a great start to the day.

To my birthday.

Why can't I forget that? I don't even want to celebrate. This is just par for the course. Mike, if you don't stop pounding I will slam this door into your face. In fact you got three seconds. Three. Two. One.

You're lucky you're fast, bro. You're also lucky I'm too tired to wipe that grin off your face. Why you take pleasure in my misery I will never know. This isn't funny, Mike. And don't you dare call me birthday boy. You see this glare? This glare means shut up. Fine, don't take hints. This is me walking away from you, Mike. Bye. Go watch cartoons. Go bug Donatello. Go play in traffic. Go stick your head in the microwave. You just don't get it, do you? Mike, compared to you, Master Splinter's punishment is paradise.

And here we are again. Silence. I suspect I have to wait. Master Splinter likes making us wait. I don't know if we're supposed ta meditate or center ourselves or if he just wants to drive us nuts, but we always wait. Maybe I'm special, but I usually wait the longest. Not today, here he is, sipping tea. Father thinks he's being sneaky. He always sips tea when he wants to hide his expression, so the cup and the rising steam cover any hints of a smirk or dark clouded eyes. Anger or irritation, mirth or concern. And, well, I guess it does, but still, I know it means he doesn't wanna make his feelings known.

Have I calmed down? Well, yeah. You could say I slept on it. No, I haven't got much to say for myself. In fact I'm not feeling very talkative at all. Mind racing, yeah, but talkative? Hell no. I have been here before. Tried protesting a whole ton of stuff. Told him it ain't fair that Leo baits me or that he gets irritated for the most stupid shit, but it's always the same answer back. I'm not in the mood to argue right now. Not in the mood to be told that I'm wrong. Well, Master Splinter never actually says we're wrong, he just does that whole food for thought thing and that usually circles back to the same message of 'control your temper'

And that's an awful tricky subject, since we're basically in prison down here. I mean when we get on one another's nerves we don't have many places to go. So we keep on irritating one another until it breaks. I just have a lower tolerance for irritation than the rest of 'em.

Sorry, Father. I am listening. Alright, yeah. I can do that.

And here I am, in the main room again, wondering why I didn't get the book thrown at me? No lecture, no guilt trip, just a short conversation and a punishment of replacing the lamp. That's almost fun, since it means getting out of the lair to do a hunt for castaway stuff, and it's easy enough to fix that it'll keep my mind off shit for an evening. Leo looks pissed. He doesn't say anything, but reading his eyes he thinks that I got off easy just because it's my birthday. Well, guess what, Leo? If I gotta be nice to you one day out of the year, the least you could do is repay the favor and don't shove it in my face. No, I am not smirking at you. Oh come on Leo, it's too damn early in the morning to start a fight. Eh, not important. Seriously.

The nice thing about Leo is he hardly ever pursues things. He usually just lets them drop. Every once in awhile I wonder if he's actually trying to start a fight or if he doesn't realize he's pushing all my buttons and he's actually just trying to make some convoluted point. Maybe I just read it as him starting a fight because it's what I'd do to start a fight. Hm. If I thought he'd listen to me, I might actually ask him. He'd probably just think I was trying to egg him on and—

Holy shit! Mikey, some day I am gonna ninja kick you into the next county for doing that! Right. Breathe. Pancakes? What? You took all that effort to sneak up on us to ask if we wanted pancakes? Right. There is no way I'm getting out of this, is there? Alright, Mikey, alright. I get it, this is culinary blackmail. Yes? Fine. Make pancakes. I am so glad you are thrilled. So happy to be of service.

I don't know why they have to spring this shit on me. Everybody's supposed to love special breakfasts, I know. But they just don't get that if you plan on something or maybe just have a routine, having something different is irritating. Yeah, no matter how nice it seems it's just a pain in the ass to smile and pretend it's what you wanted. But I gotta smile. If I'm not there's 'something wrong with me' and I just have a 'bad attitude.' It's like it's a crime to hate your birthday. I mean what do they give you if you're arrested for hating your birthday? Five to seven, with daily pancakes and a year off for good behavior? I wonder. Oh, hi Don. Yeah, I am staring off into nothingness. No, I'm not thinking about anything. I'm thinking about nothing. I am certainly not thinking about the capital punishment for pancake hating and birthday abandonment. I wonder if you could kill a person by tying them down and smothering them with frosting. Would that be cruel and unusual? Something smells good. Could you suffocate a person with frosting? I heard that an actor suffocated and almost died when slathered in make up. Was that the Wizard of OZ? Can't remember. Oh, and the pancakes are on the table. You know, these aren't bad, actually. In fact they're pretty good. I can't look like I'm enjoying myself too much or I'm sure I won't hear the end of it, but yeah, these are really good.

Thanks, Mikey.

Will miracles never cease? An entire meal without stupid pointed questions or Mike boasting about his mad cooking skillz? Just good food and conversation? Maybe I have been unwittingly diagnosed with a fatal illness and they all feel the needs to be nice to me. Heh. Birthday-itis. Don't get too close or you might catch it! Symptoms include irritability, paranoia and severe cake allergies.

For the record, I still hate birthdays.

And yet the rest of the morning is ok. Nothing sappy, no one going out of their way to be nice, everyone's just normal. Mellow even. I am starting to think I'm in the Twilight Zone. Practice is chill. Even to the point where I can zen out and listen to myself breathing, listen to my brother's breathing, and just forget about the world for a while. Maybe this is why Leo meditates so much? Maybe he likes it when all the rest of the world goes away, but I gotta wonder when he meditates, what is he thinking? Is he like Mikey who can zone and seriously think of nothing at all? Or is he like Donnie who always had a plan, a calculation, something to break down and build up all in his mind before his fingers even get moving.

Or is he like me?

Nah, Leo couldn't possibly be like me. I think I'm the only one who is cursed to have such a trash-heap cacophony in my brain. It's like shit just piles up, an amazing clutter of thoughts and it sits in a big festering pile and I never have enough time to sort it out. Seriously, you'd get pissed off and turn your back on your brothers, too, if you were always trying to sift out your own mental garbage. Sometimes I think I got really good ideas, but there's just so damn many of them, I never seem to come up with anything coherent. Not like Donnie. Him and I are opposites. And hell, I'd never say this out loud, but I'm jealous. He's all mentally organized and he gets praised for his genius. I'm all mentally disorganized and it just gets me inta trouble.

Still, does Leo meditate as a part of his mental condition… or as a remedy to it? I wish I knew. I'll never ask. I should probably concentrate again- Oh, shit! Yes, I hear you! Hell, Leo, I'm not a space case. I was just thinkin.' Can't a guy think? Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Mikey. I'm here now, on my feet, yeah, I'm ready.

I like running. Hell, I love running. I love the burn you get when you do it long enough. I love how it makes your head spin and you almost feel giddy. I ain't the fastest runner of my brothers, but I'm pretty sure I could do it longer than anybody else, even Leo, who prides himself on his stubborn endurance. Because he runs out of duty. I run for the rush. Oh, yes, Master Splinter. I would love to lead the run. I'll take that as a birthday gift. I don't get ta lead 'em very often since Leo complains that I usually lead us inta dangerous territory. I'd argue I lead us into interesting territory, and just because it's unknown doesn't make it dangerous. Mikey, he leads us inta danger. He loves leaping and climbing and he picks the most hazardous routes and still he gets ta lead more'n I do. But I'm not interested in explorin' today. I just wanna run.

I got it all planned out in my head. I know the longest scouted loop in these tunnels and I even know a longcut I can take to get there. I'm thinkin' it's about eighteen miles total, which is a little more'n twice what we usually run as a group. I can feel my limbs warming before we even take off, grunting an assent to Fearless that yeah, I know, no going off on routes we haven't scouted, I got it. You just keep up oh Fearless one.

It's a bit chilly, perfect weather for running. The air still stinks, but the longer you work the more you seem to grab onto the little bits that don't smell like waste and decay. We start slowly enough. Yeah, Mikey, laugh it up. I ain't going any faster, and you're gonna need your breath.

Heh. I'm starting to feel the burn in my legs and lungs, like warmth that grows from your chest and sends a thrilling tingle all the way to your toes. And finally Leo speaks up. Took ya that long to realize what I was doin, bro? You can make it. If we rest now, then we'll only feel tired for the second leg. No, you just push through it until it starts ta feel good again. I know, Mike's laggin. Maybe Mike shoulda saved his energy and paced himself. Don's keepin' up but not looking too happy and here comes the inevitable question. Leo, maybe I ain't trying ta prove anything. Maybe I'm just enjoying myself. Maybe if you guys weren't all so conspiracy theorist about my motivations you might realize you enjoyed it, too. I told you ta take more water. You are not gonna die, Mikey. Grow a pair.

And now come the excuses. We don't have enough water. We'll be out too late. We didn't plan on this. We'll get too far from the lair. Come on. Are we ninjas or nursemaids? I can't tell if Leo is paying attention to Mike's whining because he actually agrees with him or just because he wants to shut him up. Leo can make it the whole way. I know he can. Actually if he and I didn't always seem to rub each other the wrong way he'd be one hell of a running partner. Wait a second, that's not a bad plan. There's a junction coming up, Don can take Mike's whiny butt back home and maybe Leo and I can finish this off with a little race at the end.

I should know that when I voice an opinion and it gets considered and actually accepted by the committee of my brothers without question that there is something deeply wrong with the universe. I don't know why, but it sticks in my craw that when my ideas and suggestions get followed, trouble is the immediate outcome. And usually it's trouble that is out of my control. I mean we have scouted all these tunnels. We're old enough that Master Splinter lets us do rounds by ourselves and we often train in separate pairs. The only thing that hints in my mind that something might be amiss is that the junction path runs a bit close to the subway, but how many times have we walked it? Hundreds at least. Everybody seems good with this idea, and I'm actually relishing the idea of a little time with Leo doing something where we're not trying ta tear one another's heads off.

And it's great. For a while. And the while always ends in misery. At least I can say this time I didn't start it. Well, sort of. I'm sure that the blame will end up on me since it was my route and my idea. Even when it's not my idea, the blame usually ends up on me or Mike. I guess like rainwater and economics, blame trickles down. Leo's shell cell goes off. He stops. I almost don't catch it until I hear the panic in his voice, and I stop, too. What? How in the hell could they have found the Foot clan in the sewers by the Franklin station? I swear this is birthday misfortune rearing its ugly head. I guess we really do always get into a fight on my birthday.

And we're off. Leo's gotta be panicked, he doesn't even give me a glance for the stream of profanity that's coming out of my mouth. Profanity. Frustration. Anger. Hate. I hate fate. I hate irony. I hate my birthday.

It's not a race anymore. It's desperation and we are running faster than I thought we could. Everything narrows to a thin precise path, tunnel vision. Mikey. Don. Mikey. Don...

To see them is like seeing a sunrise at the farm, a brilliant change from darkness to light. Both are still on their feet, and the tide of the battle is about to change drastically. I can see this in the postures of the Foot soldiers. You can't even see their eyes, but their bodies shift from aggressive to defensive. Six on two ain't great odds, even if we're stronger than them. Six on four is much better. Mikey and Don look spent, the latter favoring his left leg so I wonder what hit his right. Mikey's joking. Taunting. That means he was stalling for time. Looks like you stalled enough, bro.

My runner's high is gone. I no longer feel elated, I just feel cold and angry. Something about this chill keeps my movements tight, efficient. Sais out, clockwork. Leo's got the two with swords, which leaves one for Mike, one for Don and two for me. This one's a porcupine. Little blades ferreted all over his body, slender, tiny. The other is tall, with an intricate polearm that looked to be one of the Foot's own designs. I never saw the point of polearms in the sewers. Needs too much room to swing. It's really a battlefield weapon, not a close-quarters weapon, so he's going down first and fast. I need my concentration for Porcupine.

Leo always preaches how he makes his katana an extension of his arm. My sais are my arm. I love how they rest against the forearm, like armor. The polearm hits with a shower of sparks and holds. It's a matter of position now. Step forward. Close the gap. Opposite hand comes around, distraction. Uppercut to the groin. Now he's sunk down to my height and he gets a ridgehand to the temple. I can feel the sai connect with the bone, and the warmth of blood wash over my fingers. He's not waking up any time soon, but to make sure he stays down, he gets a jab in the back of the thigh. Just enough to discourage walking. And now he's down. You and me porcupine.

I am not slow. I don't know how my brothers saddled me with the moniker of being the slow one – maybe because I'm strong? But my weapons require a lot more speed than my brothers. Well, except Mikey. But Porcupine? He's fast. I mean rabbit on amphetamines fast. Jumping all over the place, which I hate. I'm not slow, I'm solid.

We move in, we dance, we move out and it's becoming apparent that I'm not gonna win this fight without getting cut. First rule in a knife fight, is you're gonna get cut. This guy isn't in a knife fight. He's one big walking knife. So the choice I get is: where will I get cut? Morbid, maybe, but there's places I can take it without bleedin' out. This is not gonna be fun.

Mike lagging. Don's holding his own and Leo's downed one but still has another. I'm not gettin' any help any time soon. I suppose it's too late to ask for a 'get out of being shanked free' card for my birthday. Porcupine flies towards me. Yup. Too late.

I turn and fend him off with my shell and he slips to the side. I flip my sais and strike forward with intent to impale. He slips it, and it's back and forth a few more times before he jumps. And I notice that he protects his head, but not his stomach. I gotta get close enough to use my advantage and I grit my teeth. I'm getting cut and he's going down.

He lands, strikes my shoulder and my blood runs cold. I can't even feel what happened because I know what I gotta do to win this. The blunt end of the left sai hits the kidney and he bends double, the business end of the right sai hooked up into the stomach. And then I hear it, this horrible gasp of air, like a deflating balloon and when he looks up blood is dribbling out of his mouth like milk runs out of a baby. I step back, putting distance between his knives and myself, landing a kick to his shoulder to keep him away. He doesn't protest, he just crumples.

I feel sick. Cold and sick. Chills. Cobwebs in my brain.

Mike's still lagging and there is still work to be done. At least two on one is straightforward enough. Mike keeps him occupied; I pop him in the head. Simple. Everything seems less simple. Foggy. Leo finally downs his second and things seem to be settling down. I can feel my breath finally come to me in hot, shallow waves, and Leo screams my name. What? Why the hell am I in trouble now? I didn't do this, Leo!

Except he doesn't say anything more, he just catches my shoulder. Why the hell am I falling? I hadn't even realized I was falling. Fuck. Oh fuck. This was a bad calculation on my part. I was focused on the wakizashi Porcupine was using and thought I would be fending off a nasty slice. Tunnel vision. I never saw the tanto until right now. Well, technically I still can't see it. I can only see the handle of the dagger sticking out of my shoulder.

And that's when all the numbness fades and my body turns hot. White hot. Pain flaring out and the sewer goes grey. Leo? Thank you. Seriously, I can't keep my feet without you. Don's got bandages? How the hell did he get bandages? Where did he store them? Or were they from the Foot? Why do I care? Oh yeah, because fixating on the bandages makes me not fixate on the pain.

Oh fuck. I shouldn't have done that.

Bandages. Bandages. Mikey, sing something. Say something. Do something. Do anything. I need to think of something else. Kittens. No, I hate kittens. Leo's crown. No. Animal planet porn. Birthdays.

Oh yeah. I _definitely_ hate birthdays.


	3. Maybe

I definitely hate getting cut.

How long has it been? I'm not quite sure. The last few minutes have been foggy. Or were they hours?

We got back to the lair somehow. I'm pretty sure I walked. Well, let me rephrase that, I'm pretty sure I wasn't carried. I'm not sure walk is accurate, so shoot somewhere in between and you'll get there.

Stupid. I feel sick and stupid. My suggestion, my miscalculation, damn it. DAMN IT. It comes out as a wheeze and aw, shit. Mikey, don't get worried, see? I'm right here. I'm fine. Totally fine. Well, mostly fine. Keepin' a stiff upper lip, that is what I'm doing. Stop worrying. Just stop.

And then I catch it. Just a glance from Leo. Only a moment, but it slams into my frontal lobe like a wrecking ball. _He gets it_.

I mean not just gets it, but _he fucking gets it_. All the worry, all the inner commotion, all the keeping your chin up to protect your brothers and keep them calm. Or maybe… maybe he got it all along and _I'm_ the one who gets it now.

Shit. I'm caught with my jaw hanging open, just staring at him. I knew it before in the way you sort of know things work, but until you see it in action it doesn't really sink in how they work. Or more accurately how well they work. Shut up, Mikey. I am not drooling over Leo. Ugh. Mikey, can it! I almost lost my train of thought. _ I_ get it. _I fucking get it_.

The blame he heaps on himself, all the worry. Oh crap, didn't I just call myself out on this plan before it went down? Am I not worrying now? Fuck. I'm turning into Leo.

Alright, deep breaths. Deep breaths. Shit, Donnie, whatever that stuff it, it's potent. And now my head feels swimmy. Right. Turning into Leo. Nah, could never happen. I'm just not him. But I wonder. Maybe we. Nah. Couldn't be. Hello, Father. I'm OK. I promise. He doesn't believe me, I can see it in his eyes. It's not the look of 'oh my god, you're gonna die' it's the 'you shouldn't pretend for the benefit of others' sort of look. I swallow. He gets it, too. I see his eyes dash between us. Yeah, I'm sorta trying not to think about it, now. Working to not think about it. Shit.

Alike. Too much. No. Not thinking about it. Thinking about OW! Damn, Donnie, that hurt! I don't know what hurts more, my shoulder or biting my lip to make it look like my shoulder doesn't hurt. There's that stare again. Dammit, Leo, stop it. We're too damn much alike. Dammit! NOT THINKING ABOUT IT.

I must have screwed my eyes shut because Mikey's now shaking my other arm lightly. Yes, Mike. I'm OK. OK. Ohhhhhh Kaaaaaaay. Aw, fuckit. I hate this farce, but I am so good at it.

And whatever Donnie gave me starts kickin' in. Just like that it's…

How long has it been? Everything is quiet now, but I'm still on the couch. With added pillows. Bleary. Wait, voices. More voices. Casey? April? Oh, shit. I'm late to my own party. Wonderful. Can I take a rain check? The last thing I wanna be is a sick turtle on display. Wounded turtle on display. Whatever. I'm sick of pretending and just want to rest.

I shouldn't have to pretend, yanno? These are my brothers, for fuck's sake, and my father and my best friends. So why in the hell do I? Why do I keep up this charade, this wall? Except I don't think there is any other choice. Or is that I don't feel there is another choice? Why. Why? Here I am, already pulling myself up to sit and look all solid and OK and yet I just want to lay back and melt against these ratty old cushions and not have to worry. Another year older and what do I know? Not much. Why?

The f-word crosses my mind. No, not fuck, dammit. I'm not obsessed with cursing. And certainly not with sex. No. Fear. Am I afraid to relax? Why? Are Donnie's drugs playing with my head? Did he even give me drugs? I don't know. I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy thinking. Maybe that's it. Maybe I play this role, this game to cover up the cacophony in my brain. Cover it up? Not let them know what I think, how much flotsam and jetsam flies past the stream of muddy thoughts – perhaps protect them?

That doesn't sound right. I don't protect them from me. I protect them, sure, but not from me. Not my anger, not my muddy thoughts, nothing would make me hurt them. It makes me so angry when my actions unwittingly lead to trouble. I wish I were clairvoyant. I wish I could have some sort of big red danger alarm that would tell me when a decision was going to be fated to turn into something stupid. I mean I don't choose shit like this on purpose. I'd call it dumb luck, but I remember Father telling us that we make our own outcomes through our actions. But sometimes shit gets outta your control. Maybe that's what I really hate is the feeling that it's out of control. I'm out of control. No, not me, things around me. I wish I could control the Foot or make the gangs of the city go away. Make sure Casey stays safe, or that nobody gets jumped when they're on patrol. But, fuck, you can't do it. You can't be everybody's mother and yet that means you always feel outta control of things. I don't know how everybody else comes to peace about this, because it galls me. Sorta like my thoughts, it's like everybody else has a dam on their brains where they can catch the backwash, but mine cracked ages ago and everything comes bursting through. Uncontrolled. Muddy.

And under that muddy stream of thought, all I got is a whole damn lot of concern for this family. And that's why I know I'm not protecting them from me. I just keep distance at times. And now we come back to why. Why? I'm so tired, I'm getting loopy. This whole birthday thing is making me sappy. Dammit.

The cracks in the ceiling look like spiderwebs. I wonder why we don't have more leaks, but it's been dry in the main rooms for years. Don't know what Father did to fix them, but it's nice.

I'm staring at the ceiling. That's right, I'm pointedly ignoring other questions by staring at the ceiling. Go me.

I remember when it used to leak. Leo and Mike caught terrible colds, I think Don and I got 'em, too but we weren't as sick. I remember bundling up, in rags and old coats and shit, like seven layers deep and going topside with Donnie and Father to find food. We found this dumpster outside a grocery store where some thoughtless clerk had dumped an entire boxful of dented cans. Soup. Veggies. Beans. It was like fucking Christmas. I think Master Splinter cried, he was so happy. I remember jumping up and down with Donnie, cheering. We were so proud of ourselves, we were the ones to pick out which dumpster to search through. We took it all back, warmed the soup up and sat in bed with Leo and Mike. Everybody was eating bowls of soup. Soup never tasted so damn good, and I don't think it ever will again. That was right around this time of year. Hm. Funny how you remember stupid things like that.

Oh crap. I am being spoken to. I let my guard down and now everybody is here. I'm glad I'm green, because it's harder to see me turn red. I'm fine. Yes, hello April. I swear, I'm fine. I wasn't nodding off. No, promise. Yeah. What was I thinking about Mikey, lets see? None of your business, how's that? Right. Everybody sits and everybody looks over. Yep, here I am, laying on the couch, now what? Ah, yes. Confession time. Party plans were made, and yes, I ruined everything. Ok, sheesh, Leo, I get it. Not my fault. Got it.

And there's that look again. _He gets it_. I swear he's studying voodoo mind-reading and it drives me batty. And yet, there's something reassuring about it. Like it's OK to relax. That's good, because I'm rapidly running out of reserves to keep this 'chin up' shit up. I just want to relax. And then those very words dribble out of my mouth.

I just want to relax.

Silence? Master Splinter is smiling. Oh shit, now everybody is smiling. What the hell did I say? This isn't funny. That's about to come out of my mouth, too, but the words never fully form. Master Splinter says he has a good idea. Nobody is laughing yet so I'm taking this as a good sign.

April's farm? I must have been caught with my jaw open, because Mikey giggles. Thanks, you're breaking the mood here, bro. But yes, in fact that would be nice. I give that sort of halfassed nod of assent you give when you feel a bit numb. Stunned? Maybe it's whatever Donnie gave me, but maybe it's just me. Oh, protest coming on. My brain seems to have engaged its full pessimism capacity and the question about 'what about the Foot since we attacked them close to our territory?' slips out.

I nod a bit as Casey tells us that the Foot have been prowling around the subway stations in general, some conflict with the Purple Dragons. He's keepin' an eye on 'em. Sounds like Casey. Oh, and ever-practical Don has to be the one to note that being out of town handily keeps us out of harm's way. Ok, point. For a while, I feel a bout of civil-war going on in my brain, between pessimism and acceptance. Ok, I admit it. I cast a glance to Leo. That whole 'he gets it' thing is getting to me. Dammit. Anyways, what's done is done, no looking away now. Nope. No argument. No nothing. In fact, there is an all systems go expression on his face. Deep breath, clear my head. Yes, I would like to go.

In fact, I would love to go. That would redeem this rather craptastic day. I'm sick and tired of finding reasons to hate my birthday and having them all come true. What about taking some time to enjoy it? Fuck this whole self-deprecating shit. I have been absolved.

Just please do not get me cake. I'm serious about that whole death-by-frosting thing.

But yeah. This whole thing is coming together quickly. I wonder if it was planned beforehand, either way it would have been welcome before and it's very welcome now. It's even suppose ta rain tomorrow. And maybe, if I can mend fast enough, I can get a rematch with Leo for that run. Shit, did I just say that out loud, too? I must have, he's chiding me to take it easy. The expression on his face is too funny. He's wearing my worry. This time _I_ get it. Doofus. He's not getting out of it that easily. Heh, that's right, Mikey. You tease him, he needs it. I can't help but chuckle, and it's infectious. Even Leo's laughing, and then there's a nod. That sort of 'you're on' - but not a competition. A realization. Leo'd make a damn fine running partner. Even if I do it for a rush and he does it for some sort of ideal of ninja perfection, don't matter. We'd push one another and end up not tearing heads off. Eighteen miles. We got a date. Not a bad birthday present if I say so myself.

And then Casey leans over and whispers something about beer. And porch swings. I think it might have included listening to baseball on the radio, but it doesn't matter. Relaxing? Rain? Running? Beer? All I'd need is a box full of dented soup cans to make a crap day into a damn fine night.

And so here we are. The air is fresh. You can smell the timothy hay and spring clover. It's just a bit damp, promising a nice hard rain tomorrow. I have been told that I'm to rest in no uncertain terms by Donnie, and that's OK. I slept most of the way here and I'm still a bit beat. But it's relaxing. And I ain't gonna lie. It's just what I needed.

Oh no. The floorboards creak in this place so easily so even ninja master Leo and ultra-patient Donnie can't do much creeping. Add Mike into the mix and even half asleep I can hear 'em coming a mile away. They haven't forgotten. I can smell candles.

Please don't sing. Please don't sing. You guys are so off key. You can stop now. Really, you can. You guys are a bunch of major dorks. Are you shitting me? This cake doesn't have frosting. How did you guys know I hate frosting? This cake is bare, except for a coupl'a chocolate scribbles that I think say 'Happy Birthday Raph.' I'm not quite sure, though. Ninjas my brothers may be. Cake decorators they are not. So it actually looks like some sort of alien code for summoning an eldritch beast. But I'll give them the benefit of the doubt.

And hello Mikey. I thought you would be cutting the cake, why are you sitting by me? And now you're hugging me. Get offa me, moron. What? I don't want presents, Mike. There is something in his smile that tells me I should fear for my life. And I get a box. A rather heavy box. There is that grin again. Alright, fine. I'll open it. It's…

Soup?

I am so glad it's dark. I am so glad I'm green. And Mike leans over and whispers five words that make my throat go dry. 'You talk in your sleep'

I knew there was a reason I lock my bedroom door.

Father is smiling. I think he might actually be teary eyed. You just can't feel angry when he looks at you with that expression. Alright, you guys got me. I'm embarrassed on my birthday, like every single year. Thanks.

And they smile. No laughter, just smiles.

Thanks, guys. This time it's softer, more sincere. Really, thanks.

Maybe I don't hate birthdays after all.

* * *

><p><em>AN: the style comes from the idea that Raphael thinks far more than he actually says, and that maybe his reactions come from a whole train of thought that is never shared. Being the trepidatious sort, I sincerely hope this reads as IC for Raph and not just some random drivel. Comments and criticisms – both positive and negative are welcomed._


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